


Soothing the Ghosts

by thefontbandit



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cuddling, F/M, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 20:39:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11425773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefontbandit/pseuds/thefontbandit
Summary: During a rough night, Cullen seeks solace in the Ambassador's study. Completely smut-free fluff (and a little bit of pining, because that's how I roll).





	Soothing the Ghosts

Josephine's hair slides through his fingers, its heavy waves a cool weight, like water running over Cullen's hand. It soothes the burn a little, the stinging sensation like beetles scurrying under his skin.

Months. It's been months since he stopped taking the lyrium, and some nights it still feels like fire crawling in his veins.

Josie shifts in her sleep, her hand curling beside her head where it rests on his lap. Her steady breathing is a mantra, a lullaby. It too eases the ache.

Perhaps he shouldn't have come here tonight, long after all sensible citizens of Skyhold have gone to bed. All save the sentries at their posts, the cooks watching overnight roasts, and those like Cullen, haunted by ghosts that hold sleep just outside his reach.

 

* * *

 

 

Just past midnight, the frantic, nervous energy had grown too strong and Cullen's restless feet led him to the closed door of Josephine's study outside the war room. He knocked lightly, cautious not to disturb her. It was all too possible she'd gone to her rooms hours ago. But Josephine had answered the door, her usual finery discarded for an embroidered robe over a nightdress, her hair loose for the evening. The stubs of two burnt-out candles beside a guttering one attested to a long night perusing reports and penning letters.

And yet she'd set the papers all aside without hesitation when she saw Cullen's face. How haggard and haunted must he have looked to merit such an expression of concern?

She ushered him to the small sofa before the fireplace. "You must eat, Commander." The Ambassador shoved a plate of tiny pastries into Cullen's hands.

He stared down at the desserts then back up into Josephine's face. "'Commander'?" A faint smile crossed his lips. "I'd think we were past such titles when no one else is present."

A tinge of crimson brushed her cheeks. "Yes, well, I suppose. Cullen." She tugged on the edge of a sleeve with one hand, taking a seat beside him. "But you should still eat."

The thought of food made Cullen's stomach churn, especially something rich and sugary like the fancy pastries before him. But the ambassador was right. He chose the least ostentatious one and took a bite. It tasted too cloying, but he chewed and gulped it down. "Do I want to know why you have a plate of Orlesian desserts at your study this late at night?" Cullen set the rest of the tray aside, leaning over her to place it on the side table. A scent clung to her, beneath the sharp tang of ink and the soft smell of parchment. It was a fragrance particular to Josephine, the warmth of amber and the bright sweetness of some delicate flower. Now it was Cullen's turn to feel the warmth suffuse his own cheeks. Too quickly, he dropped the tray on the table and shifted back to his side of the sofa.

_Maker, coming here was a terrible idea._

They were the Inquisitor's counsel. It was madness to risk the solidarity of the Inquisition's innermost circle with a flight of fancy.

 _It was that damnable card game,_ Cullen chided himself. When Josephine had soundly beaten him, taking both his money and his dignity, he'd begun to see her... differently. A formidable foe, but one with a laugh like sunlight and honey, a gentleness beneath the cunning mind that called to him, that smoothed his rough edges.

Josephine smiled softly, and it tugged a thread inside Cullen's chest. He pushed it aside.

"They're samples from the kitchen," she answered his question about the pastries. "I'm to decide which ones to serve when Comte Esseveux visits in two days." She sighed, closing her eyes and leaning back against the sofa, tucking her feet beneath her. "He favors chocolate, the darker and more bitter the better. I think I'll go with the pate a choux with the mousse filling and the ganache glaze."

Just the description made Cullen's guts tighten violently, and he grimaced.

"I am sorry," Josephine murmured, then rested her fingertips lightly against his forearm. He could feel their warmth through the cotton of his shirt. She knew, of course. Both the ambassador and the spymaster had been told of his condition, for the sake of the Inquisition. "How bad is it tonight?"

He closed his eyes. "Bad." He shook his head, then glanced at her.

A heavy weight hung in Josephine's gaze. "What can I do?"

Cullen took a deep breath, let it out in a slow, shuddering sigh. A modicum of common sense bubbled to the surface. "You have work to do. I shouldn't have come." He shifted his weight, preparing to stand.

"Oh, hush," she shushed him, threading her arm through his and pulling him back onto the sofa. Her head rested on his shoulder. "If you go back to your room, you will not sleep at all. And what good is that for the Inquisition?" A faint smile clung to the words, a teasing note that made his heart tighten in his chest.

Still, he couldn't form an answer, torn between what he wanted to do and what he knew he should do.

His heart won.

A tension eased from Cullen's shoulders as he leaned back into the velvet cushions. His head dipped to rest his cheek against the top of Josephine's head.

They sat like that in silence, watching the embers of the fireplace flicker and fade. As much as he needed the rest, Josephine fell asleep first, her body leaning against his. Cullen could not sleep, a nervous energy skittering across his skin. But just listening to her breathe lightened his burden even as it made his heart hammer a drumbeat against his ribs.

After a time, Josephine awoke just enough to lie down, curl up on the sofa, and sleepily settle her head in his lap.

Foolishness, he knew, but Cullen didn't protest, the weight of her warmth a balm for his troubles. He stroked her hair and sighed, idly dreaming of the impossible, of claiming this moment of piece again and again.

He dozed, and for the first time in days his dreams were peaceful ones.

 

* * *

 

 

Now, early dawn light filters through the windows, the fire and the candle at Josie's desk both long since burnt to nothing. His fingers slip through Josie's hair and wonders. How far will this madness go? How long until one of them comes to their senses?

It's possible he is just imagining the glimmer in Josephine's eyes when their gazes meet. Or the curl of her smile at him. Perhaps her apology after that fateful night of Wicked Grace had been merely a simple courtesy.

But what if it isn't wishful thinking?

Josephine's fingers twitch slightly as she dreams, their tips stained with the ink of her trade. He brushes them with his own, her hands small and slim against his soldier's calluses. What would the ambassador do if he twined his fingers in hers when she awoke? Would she pull away, her shyness and propriety taking over, or would she pursue this foolish notion as well?

She stirs, eyes fluttering open as she yawns. Josephine bolts upright. "It's dawn!"

A heat burns his cheeks as Cullen slides away from her, caught mid-reverie. "I, uh, hm. Yes."

Her hair falls in tangled waves, eyes startled and her usual composure fallen. He watches her don it again like a cloak, her face smoothing into a polite expression like a mask. But something lingers in her eyes, a look he cannot name. Her cheeks darken as well, and she clears her throat. Cullen waits for the words to follow, but she sits in silence.

"I'll go," are the only words he can muster, awkwardness settling over him like a fog.

She watches him stand, following suit and smoothing the skirts of her robe, brushing her fingers through her hair.

Halfway to the door, he pauses. "I'm sorry," he blurts. "I shouldn't have come."

"Wait," she calls out as he turns. "Commander..."

He winces at the formal title, squaring his shoulders to leave, but she keeps speaking.

"Cullen," she says softly. "Do not apologize."

With a shake of his head, Cullen turns to look at her. "I kept you from your work, Ambassador. The Inquisition can ill afford me distracting you."

An indignant scowl draws Josephine's brows low, her mouth set in a hard line. "And I? Am I not to decide when I shall take a respite from my work?" She strides toward him, pulling her robe tighter about herself like a soldier donning armor. "I assure you, Commander, I am quite capable of choosing how to spend my time."

There is a bite to the words, a sharpness at odds with the situation.

"And you choose to spend it with me?"

Josephine lifts her chin, a challenge. "Would it be amiss if I did?"

"I..." Cullen blinks, the weight of her words sinking in. "I... no."

Dawn has risen, golden light dancing on Josephine's hair, unruly and tangled from sleep. Her eyes gleam with something mischievous. It's the same look she cast at him during that card game, the one that had first made his heartbeat stutter. A smile lingers on her lips.

Maybe it's the lack of sleep. Or the strange fey quality of the morning sun spilling through the windows. Perhaps it's a madness induced by this bout of withdrawal. There are any number of excuses he could use, but the truth is far more simple, if he admits it to himself.

Gently, as if asking permission, he takes her hand in his. Their fingers lace together, and Josephine does not draw away despite another blush spreading across her cheeks. She stares up at him, morning sunlight glimmering in her eyes, lips slightly parted.

It's the lips that do it, that expressive, lovely mouth. He closes the gap. Josephine makes a small, happy sound and her lips smile against his own.

It takes a great effort to pull away. A long sigh slips from him as they part.

"Skyhold awakens," Josephine says reluctantly, glancing down at her state of disarray.

"Later, then?" he can't keep the smile from his face or his voice, though his heart pounds so fiercely it's a wonder Josephine doesn't hear it. Her scent wraps around him, warmth and flower blossoms.

Her returning grin is like sunshine. She nods. "Later, Commander."


End file.
